The Vesper Situation
by PinkLemonade519
Summary: DISCONTINUED. Don't read.
1. Departure

**A/N: Hey! Thanks for clicking on the link to my first 39 Clues multi-chap. ****Oh, and I feel I must stress, I know it's not the most ground-breaking plot. I just hope the quality of the writing fairs well enough that my inbox isn't loaded with flames. **Anyway, thanks again, and I hope you enjoy, or at least think semi-pleasant thoughts about this fic. If you want to record said semi-pleasant thoughts - or your very own personal diary of hate-words used to describe awful things such as this fic - there's always that link at the bottom for reviews!

**DISCLAIMER: In no way, shape, or form do I, SMKears, claim ownership to any single character, (excluding Duke Cartwright, Sydney Wolff, Silas Cartwright, and Jon Timmins) or the concept of the 39 Clues or Cahills vs Vespers. The rights of said series' and characters belong to those who created them.**

* * *

The sounds of a pharmacy rang through Ian's ears. The _boop _of the scan, the _clink _of pounds being exchanged, and the rustle and crinkle of medicine bottles being dropped into little plastic bags. Not to mention the _dreadful_, distorted song being blasted over the intercom. It reeked of medicine and sick people. Ian shuddered. The whole store was absolutely atrocious.

Ian almost wished he had just sent the help to fetch the medicine, just avoid this whole escapade altogether. Though, he knew none of them could be trusted with something like this. Not necessarily the task, but the information of what it was for. He didn't want anyone to know how ... _complicated_ things had gotten in his private life.

Heaving a ragged sigh, he paid for the medicine and for the man behind the counter to keep quiet. When the man asked why, Ian gave him a glare and pointed to the money on the counter, meaning, _Just keep quiet._

Ian turned on his heels and exited the pharmacy with that confident stride of his.

No one could've possibly guessed what he was thinking. From his stature and powerful presence, you would have guessed he was thinking about how many secretaries he would have to fire that day, or maybe how well the quarterly returns had been for his art dealership. That wasn't even close.

What he was really thinking could've sent him into hysterics if he allowed it to. He had feelings. He didn't like sharing them, but they were there. Haunting him. Of course, he couldn't show weakness, let alone break down, but ... he was closer than he had ever been.

If he had condoned such nonsense, he would have been on the verge of tears when his phone belted out a ring. Entering one of his many limos, Ian fished it out of his pocket. After ordering his driver to take him back home, he pressed the talk button, and in that charming voice of his, said, "Hello?"

The other line sounded like the caller was somewhere public; there was a murmur of distant conversation in the background as a voice Ian recognized to be Hamilton Holt's thundering jock-voice blared through the speaker Ian had held right next to his ear, "Hey! Hamilton Holt, here. This is Ian, right?"

Ian yanked the phone from his ear as Hamilton talked, "Yes, yes, just stop _yelling_."

"Uh, sorry," Hamilton added hastily. "But, dude, I got _major_ news, and our flight's leaving soon, and the stewardess is looking at me funny for having a phone during take-off, and-"

"Shut up!" Ian barked. Hamilton stopped long enough for Ian to stress, "Now. Before you blather on, I have two questions. First of all, why are you calling me? Secondly, how on _earth_ did you get my _cell number_?"

Hamilton ignored the second question, "Look, dude, this is serious. Dan and Amy are ... I mean, Jonah thinks the Vespers got 'em."

Vespers? Who were the Vespers? Ian couldn't comprehend what he was hearing. He tried to think back, scan his memories for what his parents had said about these Vesper-people, but there was nothing. They had mentioned the name, Ian was quite sure of that, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what they were talking about at the time.

His parents _had_ told him that there was always some one trying to sabotage the hunt and steal clues, but he had always just assumed it was the Madrigals. Everyone did. And wasn't it? They had been trying to level out the playing field, that's what Amy said. It had to be the Madrigals. Then again, Amy and Dan revealed that they were in fact Madrigals, and that they were the _'good guys'_. Ian hadn't really believed it , but ... it was true that Amy and Dan were so naive, always trying to help or forgive, or do something else insufferably saintly. Ian wasn't sure what to believe - or even why he believed it.

Could these Vespers really be the ones who were plotting against them, and the Madrigals had just taken the fall, because Amy (and Dan) couldn't possibly execute such atrocities? Or were the Madrigals really the ones who had done everything, because he was scared to think otherwise?

Ian didn't know. He just knew that he was outraged. "... _What?_ Hamilton, you're not making any sense! Why would Amy and Dan be in _Switzerland? _And what do you mean Jonah thinks they've _got 'em_? That's impossible! Who are these people? Where exactly did they take them? What -"

"Whoa, slow down, dude! First, they went to Switzerland because they were going to Grace's bank or something. That's what they said, don't ask me why. Second, I meant they've been kidnapped. The rest, I dunno; who the Vespers are, where they took Amy and my little buddy, but we're gonna find out."

"Hold on, who exactly is 'we'?" Ian questioned, still ripe with anger.

"Uh, well, there's Jonah and his dad, us Holts are flying out soon, Alistair's on his way, we're going to call the Starlings, and you and Natalie, if you wanna help kick some Vesper butt."

"Of ... of course." Ian was taken back by how quick he answered, stopping himself mid-sentence. Then again, hadn't Amy saved his life on Mount. Everest? Hadn't Dan saved Natalie's in the Gauntlet? And even after all the harm his parents - after all the harm _he_ had caused them as well - they had still forgiven him and Natalie, as if all the lying and betrayal was all good fun. Not to mention that odd yet pleasant indigestion-like feeling he had had flirting with Amy for a clue ... the one he had been trying to just dismiss ever since. They were family. They made that clear in the Gauntlet, and it was the least he could do to help, wasn't it?

Ian was about to tell Hamilton that he would be there as soon as possible, when something stopped him. He didn't know what until it occurred to him; he was only confused because he didn't have his parents whispering all the answers in his ears. That just made things worse. It brought up questions _about_ questions. Did he think what he did because his parents would? No, of course not. Then something somehow even more horrifying dawned upon him. Was he basing his opinions on the opposite of what his parents would think, despite what he actually would think? Was any of this what _he_ thought?

Shaking his head clear, Ian realized Hamilton had just kept on talking, " ... so we'll meet'cha there. Hammer, out!"

"Erm- wait, Hamilton, I-" too late. The big clod hung up.

Resolutely, Ian decided he better call ahead. He knew Natalie would want to pack extensively if they were going to Swizterland.

* * *

Normally, Sinead liked Flamsteed, Ted's seeing-eye dog. He had always been good, and she had even taught him to predict - quite accurately - the dinner menu for their college. Plus, he wasn't bad company.

The only problem was, well, he wasn't quite house-broken yet. When she found her Calculus homework drenched with Flamsteed's leavings ... "Oh my God! MY HOMEWORK! Mr. Sutherland is going to KILL me! Ted! Ted Starling, get out here RIGHT NOW!"

Ted's head poked out of the bathroom door, "Yes?"

"Flamsteed peed all over my homework!"

Ted blinked," So?"

"Do something!"

"Like what? Make up a better excuse than my dog peed on my homework? Hm. I guess that doesn't have the same ring as 'ate', does it?" he said thoughtfully, with a smirk.

A low growl came from the back of Sinead's throat, and even though he couldn't see her, Ted knew she was scowling. He chuckled, "Okay, okay, I got it."

Sinead crossed her arms and waited for him to do something, but all he said was, "Bad dog, Flamsteed, bad dog." then zipped back into the bathroom.

Her mouth dropped slightly and before she could open the door, Ted had managed to feel around and lock it. She began pounding rapidly on the door with both fists, screaming, "You are _so_ dead! Get out here before I break down the door!"

Ted turned on the tap, "What? Sinead, you'll have to speak up, I-I can't hear you."

"You're visually impaired, not deaf!" Sinead shouted, rolling her eyes.

She heard the water stop briefly, and Ted poked his head out again and said in mock hurt, "_Ooo_, you just had to go there. Now my feelings are hurt."

Sinead's eyes narrowed, "I'll show you hurt, you little-"

Ted slammed the door again and locked it in record time.

Before Sinead could even jiggle the handle in frustration, her phone sang out a melodic jingle. She glanced at it, then back at the door shut in her face, deciding which was more important. Hesitantly, she thought she'd check the caller ID, just to be sure it was just Ned trying to bail out Ted, not something important.

When she saw Alistair Oh's number flash on the phone's display screen, she stopped short. She hadn't talked to Alistair since ... Sinead shuddered at the thought of the Gauntlet. More specifically, at the thought of Isabel Kabra in the Gauntlet. What could Alistair be calling about?

Cautiously, Sinead answered the phone, "Hello?"

"Oh, marvelous," Alistair sighed in relief. "I was afraid you wouldn't pick up."

"Yeah, well, I had a little business to take care of, but I guess it can wait." _It's not like Ted's coming out anytime soon, _she added to herself. "So, any _reason _you're calling?"

"I'm afraid so. Sinead, we have reason to believe Amy and Dan Cahill have been kidnapped. By a group called the Vespers."

Kidnapped? Sinead wasn't sure how she felt about that. Hadn't the Cahills only gotten in the way on the clue hunt? _No, _she fought. _Amy destroyed the vial to save everyone. Dan offered to remake it for Ned and Ted. They even tried to warn us before ... _she couldn't even bring herself to think about the explosion in the Franklin Institute, but it was true. The Cahills had warned the Starlings, though they were too vain and untrusting to believe them. All they had done was help, and now, they needed help.

"Wait ... what's a Vesper?"

"I haven't the slightest. All we know is that the Cahill children have gone missing after making several distress calls. They kept repeating that the Vespers _found them_, that the Vespers were coming," Alistair swallowed thickly, as if digesting this. "We must make haste for Switzerland."

Sinead raised an eyebrow, "What? Why Switzerland?"

"It's where they were kidnapped. If we have any chance of finding them, we should start there. That is, if you and your brothers wish to aid us in our search."

Sinead had to think. Of course she wanted to, she absolutely adored travel and the thrill of a good adventure. Ned and Ted wouldn't bat an eye at the offer, either. It was just ... after the explosion in the Franklin Institute ... things seemed more complicated. The threat of something catastrophic going wrong seemed more evident, more real. It had always been there, of course, but now, it seemed to hang above their heads like a cheap picture frame; hanging so delicately on a wire-thin string that could just give any moment.

_Just give_. What a horrifying thought. Just like the Franklin Institute, everything could _just give_. Her whole world could just collapse around her, suddenly and all at once come crashing down in a cavalcade of catastrophe, taking _everything. _No need be for reason, it could _JUST GIVE._

Sinead had to hold the phone away from her mouth so Alistair wouldn't hear her petrified gasps as she relived the explosion. Waves of dizziness washed over her and she gripped her other hand on the her bedside table to keep herself balanced. She had to keep telling herself, _They're okay. Ned and Ted are OKAY. _

Sinead wouldn't be able to bare it if something more happened to her brothers. She would just ... _just give_.

Her parents, that was a whole other complication. Their parents had become radically more protective, and wouldn't let them cross the _street_ without three tons of safety gear. After their parents came out of shock, and stopped fusing over their injuries, they had given the triplets what they now privately referred to as _the never-ending rant._ It was about how stupid the clue hunt was, how stupid _they_ were for going on it ... it just went on and _on_. There was no way their parents would let them go.

Was it really worth risking her and her brother's lives for?

Alistair cleared his throat, taking her silence as an answer, "Alright, then. If you change your mind-"

"No, wait! We ... ," Sinead bit her lip, thinking. "... We're ... _I_-I'm coming."

"Not Ted and Ned?" Alistair asked, an almost insulting amount of disbelief in his voice.

"No, they're - um ... busy. I'll come as soon as I can." ending the call, and flipping her phone shut, Sinead let out strangled gasp. It consisted of a odd mix of fear, regret, and a strange yet unashamed excitement. She rubbed her forehead and temple with one hand, massaging the faint headache that was pulsating and at the same time growing more distinct with each troubling thought.

What had she done?

* * *

"Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Kabra?" a trembling stewardess asked. She had heard the rumours of Ian's temper and his tendency to fire his employees just for the sake of it.

Ian winched ever so slightly as she talked - so slightly you would have wondered if it had ever happened at all - then glowered at the young woman. Her voice was just a tad too squeaky.

Piercing the young stewardess in place, and glaring at her for one seemingly eternal second, Ian then snapped tightly, "No. I would very much appreciate it if you left me _alone_, though. Quite so." the girl was still heavily rooted to her spot by Ian's incising peer. After one silent moment, Ian grunted, "Go, you twit! I don't care where, but if not in the next few seconds, TO THE UNEMPLOYMENT LINE!"

Natalie watched impassively as the blithering girl scrambled away, tearing away from her brother's ice-cold gaze. She knew the one. Ian himself hardly ever used it, but their parents had. She deducted that it must have been the one that made you wonder if you could get frostbite from a look. The one the two of them used to call _the scalpel_.

Natalie found it odd, and strangely uncomfortable. She couldn't fathom why, but she thought she didn't like Ian using that look. No, she was certain. She didn't like it at all, not in the slightest. Yet, the reasoning behind these feelings had completely alluded her.

She had been finding it to be like that a lot, lately. Feeling without having words to describe it and having words that didn't quite match. She didn't like that, she _knew_ she didn't like that. That was another thing. Feeling confusing feelings that simply left her, well, confused.

She also knew she didn't like the way Ian was acting. There was something definitely off about him lately, something he wasn't too keen on sharing. He hid whatever it was.

Now, it wasn't out of the ordinary for Ian to hide things, that at least, was normal. Natalie did it, too. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.

It was just how poorly he hid it. Ian was a master in the art of hiding things, secrets and emotions alike. Natalie imagined it was an innate Kabra ability, among countless others. It had to be something big if Ian couldn't simply cover it up, and from the evidence Natalie had been gathering, it most certainly was.

Of course, she never allowed herself to be caught - Natalie's abilities in stealth were quite exceptional, and had been since she could walk - but she had been tailing Ian, and taking notes of things she thought were off, even in the slightest (The first of which was how he didn't notice she was tailing him, something he normally could've easily picked up on).

Again, reasoning alluded her, when she thought of why she found this interesting, why she was - could it be? - _concerned_. She just knew she was, and that the information she had written so neatly in a small not-pad was beyond troubling.

She watched - looking away every time Ian snapped his gaze back at her to see if she was - and studied his behaviours with a keen eye for slips.

_Irritable & moody, _she wrote after seeing the girl, then thought for a moment and added, _- more than usual_, beside it.

Yes, Ian had a temper - a short one at that - but he at least had fair reasons (Most of the time). Natalie did acknowledge that this one was a stretch, but it went well with the other so-called symptoms she had written.

_Exhausted ALL the time_. She recalled how he dragged his feet when he thought no one could see and how she'd even found him asleep in his office once. She had written next to that, _Trouble sleeping?_

That seemed to be the prime suspect. Something about his sleep.

She glanced over to see Ian's back turned to her. He was fiddling with something he obviously didn't want her to see. His head swung back slightly, like he was swallowing something, then he laid himself down, trying to get to sleep.

Seeing this, Natalie erased the question mark next to '_Trouble sleeping'._


	2. Questions

**A/N: Hey, thanks to all of you who reviewed, favourited or alerted! Really, sincerely, THANK! YOU! You are now deemed super-awesomely-mega-epic, and you get a free paper hat. Enjoy chapter two!**

* * *

As Amy soon found, consciousness can be a hard thing to regain.

The first time she attempted to stay awake, she found it unceasingly difficult. Her eyelids had become anchors, weighing her down back into submission. Even when she managed to keep them open halfway for a few seconds, she couldn't recognise or comprehend any of what she saw.

Her head not only swam, but pounded painfully to a steady beat she realized distantly as her heartbeat. Blood roared in her ears like a surging waterfall. She felt to be in some sort of haze, and when she thought about it, she could feel the sedative in her system. She had been drugged.

Even in her sedated state, fear seized her heart at the immediate thought that she was drugged. It dawned on her with a horrible heart-wrenching coldness that froze her for more than one horrible moment. She panicked, regaining the ability to breathe, and trying to fight off the haze and clear her mind.

To think a clear thought was harder than she had realized. Every alteration on the reality she thought she was in was murky, and unclear. _Focus, _she told herself.

On what? Everything took to a hazy rocking motion when she tried to move. _So don't move, just think _she scolded.

Amy decided she would go back to the basics. Focus on those and work her way up. _My name is Amy ... Amy Hope Cahill. I am fourteen years old, turning fifteen in a few months. _Two _months. I have a brother, Dan. Daniel Arthur Ca- ... Cahill. He is ... is eleven, turning twelve in ... THREE months. _It was working, but just barely.

For now, just barely would have to be enough.

Decidedly, Amy would focus on Dan. _I HAVE A BROTHER. DAN. DANIEL ARTHUR CAHILL. _Just that seemed to be enough. _I HAVE A BROTHER, DANIEL ARTHUR CAHILL. I HAVE A BROTHER, DAN._

Then, in her slow state, she came to fruition with that fact, that Dan was a person, not just a name. _I HAVE A BROTHER DAN. _With something to hold on to, something that made sense, Amy attempted to build off that, and make sense of everything else.

Her bleary eyes looked out onto blackness. It was all around, except for a large rectangular portal of light she distantly realized to be a door frame. But there was a figure in the door. She couldn't make out any features, which only terrified her further. She could tell, however, that the figure was taller and much too muscular to be Dan. (_DAN CAHILL, BECAUSE THERE IS A DAN CAHILL, AND HE IS MY BROTHER)_

Beyond terrified, Amy tried desperately to get away. Alas, in her dumb and deafened state the room (or what she could see of it) only spun more and rocked harder the more she tried. The sedative threatened to pull her back under, and the figure in the door seemed to grow bigger, meaning it was getting closer.

Panic-stricken, Amy fought harder, but it was in vain. Although her senses were dulled, she could feel the figure injecting her right arm with another sedative.

Her last thought before panic and the drug took over was, _I ... I have a brother, Dan ... Where is he?_

* * *

Hamilton knew a lot of things. He knew how to make a grown man pee his pants with intimidation. He knew how to reprogram his English teacher's cell while he wasn't looking to start ringing every two minutes. And he knew how to perform any wrestling hold you could think of. Yes, quite a lot of things.

What he didn't know ... well, that list was quite longer than he would've liked.

He wanted to know what his Dad was thinking sometimes. He thought it'd be nice to know how to change a flat-tire. Though, right then, all he really wanted to know was where his cousins were.

"Switzerland ... that's where they've got the alps right?" Hamilton's dad was raving, "I bet if our flight lands early enough, we can climb 'em and be back to that bank before the others can even say-"

"Dad," Hamilton gave him a look. "We're not going on vacation. This is serious. Amy and Dan are _missing_."

Eisenhower had to stop and stare at his son for a moment. When had Hamilton _ever_ passed up a hike? Especially on a mountain like the alps.

Yet, when he looked in his son's eyes they were stone serious, unmoving and disapproving. He didn't like that look on Hamilton. It looked too much like the his father would look at him. "Right ... serious."

Hamilton's eyes broke out of that still position and went into a thoughtful one, "But, uh, you know ... when we find them, it'll probably call for a victory hike."

_Atta boy. _Content, Eisenhower sat back and watched the clouds roll by the window. Oh, how he wished he could go skydiving right then.

Hamilton on the other hand, wasn't as relaxed. He kept fidgeting and changing sitting positions. He didn't know exactly why he cancelled on the hike, he just somehow knew it wouldn't help clear his head like it normally did. His head was just too ... full, right then to be cleared. And not just because of Amy and Dan.

He was thinking too hard, lately. About too many things. He wasn't even sure if they were bad things or good things to be questioning, but he knew one thing for sure. They were distracting him from his game. In fact, his team had almost _tied_ a game of football earlier that week. Tied!

The thing is, what he was questioning wasn't something he could overlook. It was affecting his game, but what he was questioning was the player. Hamilton was questioning who he was. I mean, who exactly was Hamilton Holt, anyway? The jock? The guy who helped Dan and Amy on the hunt? Or ... what he feared, the guy who suggested blowing them to smithereens in the Franklin Institute? Hamilton just wasn't sure anymore.

* * *

If it wasn't for his stupid cast, Jonah would have been able to get away from the fan-girls easily. Instead, he stood amidst a raving cattle-drive of screaming fan-girls, signing photos and body parts.

"MARRY ME, JONAH!" one was squealing. Jonah smiled. How many 'brides' had proposed to him in his lifetime, he would just never know.

"Alright, alright, the Wiz is very busy," Jonah's dad, Broderick, was saying. "You can all see him live in his concert, but like I've said, his schedule is very tight. Almost as tight as his new CD, which is available in iTunes and any music retail store."

Jonah normally wouldn't have left - he loved his fans - but his homies were in trouble. He had to help. He signed as many foreheads as he could, then staggered out of there, and into the limo his dad had called ahead for.

Once they were alone, Broderick looked up from his phone at Jonah, "Alright, what's the plan?"

"We're all gon' meet up in the First National Bank o' Swiss. Ya know, look for clues to where Amy and Dan are." Jonah said.

Broderick frowned, "That's it? What if something goes wrong? No back-up plan?" He looked pretty worried.

"No worries, Pops, it's all good," Jonah smiled, "No one can take on _all _the Cahills. We've got back-up this time 'round, yo." His father still didn't look convinced, "Their solid, dad, it's good. Really."

Really? Broderick wasn't so sure. He just knew he didn't want his son getting hurt again, and he'd do _anything _to protect him. If those Cahills tried anything funny on Jonah - his homie, his buddy, his son - well, ... _anything._


	3. Cahills Unite

"Oh ... my ... GOD," Sinead Starling ranted. "This is quite possibly the most boring thing I have ever done."

Sinead, along with Alistair, the two Wizards, and the Holts had been scowering the First National Bank of Switzerland for hours on end to no prevail. Frankly, it was starting to get antagonizing.

"Totally," Hamilton agreed, his head only being kept up by the arm he used to prop it up. "We've looked_ everywhere_, like, twenty times. Isn't there a less boring way to get Dan-o and Amy back?"

"Well what do _you_ have in mind?" Alistair asked, quite testily. "I don't see how _wrastling _or playing _football _would help."

Hamilton looked amused, "Dude, chill. And, by the way, it's _wrestling_."

Alistair sniffed, "I apologize for not knowing your primitive terminology, but I am at my wit's end. The Zurich airport misplaced my luggage, my flight was delayed, I've been staring at this corridor for hours now, and, above all else, my niece and nephew are missing. I would appreciate your comprehension and compassion, or at the very least, your silence."

"Hey, just hold on one stinking minute, bub. You don't talk to my son like that!" Eisenhower bellowed.

"Inside voice, dad." Reagan reminded, looking at all the passers-by who stared at her dad. "Remember? We worked on it."

Alistair reasoned, "I was simply suggesting-"

"Simply suggesting my butt," Eisenhower grumbled. "You were using all those fancy words to insult him, weren't you?"

"Now, sir-"

"_Now, sir_," Eisenhower mimicked. "Come off it, Ekat."

"Now, see here. If your boy chooses to follow in your bumbling footsteps, well that's all well and good, but there's no need to chastise me for correcting him-"

"Uncle Alistair, stop," Sinead warned.

"Stay _out_ of this, Sinead." he growled, batting away her hand.

What was _that_? Sinead thought they were on good terms now, why was Alistair acting so hostile? Towards her, too? Weren't they on the same team still? Wait ... were there still teams?

"Sinead's right, we all just gotta take it down and chill, yo," Jonah put in. "Make peace, it's what Amy and Dan would do."

Eisenhower was still peeved, "Well, sorry to break it to you, Wizard, but those two ain't here, and you know why?"

"Because they couldn't stand your replusive breath, why else?" a voice purred from the entrance.

They turned towards the entrance to see Ian and Natalie Kabra standing there and dropping jaws. As usual, they looked stunning; skin the colour of creamy caramel, hair as smooth and shiny as silk, and decked out in fashionable and classy clothing.

Though, they could see that in the last few months, Natalie had evidently faired better than Ian.

It was startling to see him in this state, keeping in mind the suave and debonair young man he usually was. It wasn't even that big of a difference - the bags of sleep-deprivation under his eyes - it just took away from his flawless appearance so much that it was almost disturbing. Especially since he was glaring at them. "Have you been bickering all this time? Have you found _any_ leads to the people your supposed to be _looking for_?"

"We woudda if the dumb old Ekat could-"

"Mr. Holt!" Sinead scolded. "Stop yelling at him!"

"... She says _while _she's yelling ..." Hamilton muttered, not really liking how everyone was getting mad at his dad.

Sinead turned on him, "What?"

"I'm just saying, it's hard to take advise from someone who's doing the thing they're telling you not to do." He told her, annoyed.

"Well, I wouldn't have to yell if he hadn't yelled first. Besides, you have to be loud to get through a skull as thick as his."

"Hey!" the whole Holt family barked.

Hamilton stood, growing a good four feet, and strode over to Sinead, "Don't say my dad's dumb. He's not the smartest guy there is, but he's _not_ stupid."

"If you were listening, I didn't _say_ he was stupid. I merely implied it." Sinead went on.

"Same thing, know-it-all!"

"_Excuse_ me?"

"You heard me. You Ekats think you're _so_ smart, but you know what? The only reason you've got big heads is 'cause of your egos!" Hamilton barked. He wouldn't normally get so angry, but when someone made fun of his family ... they would pay.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

Ian sighed heavily, "Oh, how refreshing; Cahills feuding."

"You want to know something about you Tomas'?" Sinead taunted, not listening to Ian.

"What's that, Smarty?"

"You're all a bunch of primitive, thick-headed, simple-minded-"

"Oh-ho, yeah, just keep talkin', see what happens!"

"That's quite enough! Everyone!" Ian yelled, making everyone but Sinead and Hamilton back down. "Honestly, this is _pathetic_. We're here to find Amy and Dan, not start up another ridiculous feud! Apologize this instant before Natalie has to knock you out with her dart-gun. You all know she'd be more than happy to do it."

Everyone mumbled an apology to who they yelled at. Except Hamilton and Sinead.

Despite how Hamilton towered over her with his massive biceps, Sinead defiantly stood her ground, her arms crossed and her glare set in stone. Hamilton, glared her down, trying to get in her head like he did in wrestling, but she didn't seem at all affected by this. It was weird, but he couldn't let his opponent be able to call his bluff. He had to stare right on back.

Ian shifted his weight impatiently, "When I said 'everyone' and 'dart-gun', whom and what did you two think I meant? Go sit in opposite corners if you must, just stop this foolishness at once!"

Again, neither one moved.

Ian grunted under his breath, "How do Madrigals do this?"

Sinead started thinking. This brute was the one defending a chauvinistic primate who had yelled at her Uncle. This loathsome _troglodyte_ was the one who openly admitted to her that he and his caveman relations had caused ... _the Franklin Institute_. He was a _DEAD MAN_.

"_Like I was saying_," Sinead said pointedly. "you're a low-brow, puerile, _moronic_, half-witted, primordial DOLT!"

Hamilton growled, "Oh, you're _so_ lucky I don't hit girls ... other than my sisters."

"Every time you speak, I can feel my brain-cells _dying_ from lack of articulate stimulation." Sinead stressed.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Get her, Ham!" Madison and Reagan cheered.

Ian sighed heavily, "By God, you people are stubborn. You two, stop arguing like six year-olds, and you two," he said referring to the Holt girls, "stop egging them on!"

It was like they hadn't heard. "You wanna know what _your_ problem is?" Hamilton asked.

"What's my problem?"

"Alright, forget it. It's not worth my time. Natalie; go nuts." Ian said, his hands raised in exhausted defeat.

"With pleasure." Natalie told him, loading her dart-gun with tranquilizers. She thought she'd need quite a few for the big ape, Hamilton.

Sinead and Hamilton finally took their eyes off each other. They gawked at the loaded dart-gun pointed towards them and stepped away from each other in surrender. "Put that thing away! We stopped, we stopped!"

It was true; but it's not like that mattered to Natalie, "Which one first?"

"Hey, yo," Jonah cautioned, "don't shoot. Everything's cool now."

Natalie pouted, "Can't I shoot them, anyway?"

"No!" a lot of people yelled.

Hesitantly, she put the dart-gun away and crossed her arms.

"So, what do we know so far?" Ian asked.

"A whole lot of nothing," Hamilton told him. "Amy and Dan are missing, they disappeared here, and some people called the Vespers did it. Basically jack-squat."

"That's it? A group of world-class clue-hunters can't find out more than that? Well, what a pathetic lot we are. Gratis to you all; you have brought shame upon the entire Cahill clan. Bravo," Ian sneered. "Get to work and find something useful!"

"Hey, any reason why _you're_ in charge?" Madison objected. "You just walked in and started yelling at us."

"Someone had to; you people are wild animals someone forgot to lock in at night. And I'll be quite honest, I hate going out of my way for people. It's trivial and frankly pointless. However, at the moment, I'm forced to. For whatever reasons, we're all forced to; whether it's sentimental, family relations, or simply because you feel you owe them a debt; you're forced to help.

"Now, whether it's any of the latter, or your own mind deluding you with the knowledge that you're doing this out of _kindness_ and _common decency_, we're left with one solid fact. We're all here, but Amy and Dan aren't. I don't know about any of you, but I rather intend on changing that." With that, Ian turned, and started briskly down the corridor.

No one but Natalie saw how different his stride had become. It wasn't a physical change - maybe not a literal one, either - but it was certainly different. This new walking method was not fuelled by self-empowerment or even the frustration he had wanted to condone in his little speech. His footwear fell with fear.

Now a fear for what, Natalie could not say, but somehow the word miraculously had come to the forefront of her mind. He was afraid. Of what, well, that was what made Natalie afraid, as well.

Before the stunned silence could evaporate, something wondrously odd happened.

Airplanes; little, paper airplanes soared all around. They swirled, flipped, and enclosed the group.

So many of them, too. So many that created a whirlwind. Not that there was a wind-current, but they all took relatively the same course, giving the affect of a whirlwind, all around the panicked and disoriented group of clue-hunters.

The world outside their circle was filtered through, giving only glimpses of the how the panic continued outside of their heads, too.

"What's happening?" several asked. So many so, that commotion broke out.

"Where are they all coming from?"

"Who's doing this?"

"What are they?"

Everyone seemed to be freaking to Hamilton, but none as much as Sinead. She had crumpled to the floor, covered her head with her hands, and was muttering panicked nothings to calm herself down.

He didn't know why until he realized she thought the roof was collapsing. Looking to the eye of this paper storm, he could see why; the paper could easily be mistaken for mortar and whatever the roof was made of. She probably knew it wasn't, but that didn't stop her heart from racing and her mind from playing tricks on her.

_He_ had done that.

_He_ was the one who suggested blowing the Franklin Institute to bits. _He_ was the one who hadn't given it a second thought. _He _was the one who scarred the Starlings for life. And the one who hadn't cared if it _killed_ them.

Was _this_ him?

The guy who could throw a football farther than you could see, the one with computer-smarts, and the one who - oops,_ not _so flattering - tried to murder someone in cold blood?

Horrified by that, Hamilton's feet went ahead of his mind. He stumbled over to her, not sure why (_Comfort? An apology? Oh, like what? 'Sorry I almost killed you and your loved ones, forgive me?'_), just knowing that she was trembling terribly and he made her do it.

He reached out. When his hand touched her shoulder, he wasn't sure what he was expecting, but when she scrambled away in terror he recoiled.

Just his touch did that.

Of course, he knew she was probably just taken by surprise, but he couldn't shake the fear and revulsion he felt towards his own two hands. The hands of a cold-blood (almost) killer.

The cascade of paper airplanes stopped - not suddenly, slowly - but the commotion rumbled onward. The entire bank arose with a loud symphony of distraught people.

Curiously, Jonah knelt down and picked up one of the many paper airplanes. It was weird. Not totally whack, but there was definitely something off about it. It hadn't even been made right. Normal paper airplanes didn't look like this, this one was piss-poor and shaped like a-

Like a _V._

Vesper.

Hurriedly, Jonah undid the intricate folds and creases. Written neatly on the page were the words,

_MI GREEN COW,_

_MI DRAG HEALERS,_

_SEE THE GUM VIRUS,_

_ET HY REDIO,_

Jonah's eyebrows flew. It was an anagram. "Yo! Hey! Guys, I found somethin'!"

The former (or maybe not so former anymore) clue hunters ran over.

"Green cow?" Hamilton questioned once he read the note. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe it some sorta riddle," Eisenhower offered. "So there's a green cow dragging doctors with gingivitis at a rodeo. What could that mean?"

"Mr. Holt, it's not a riddle, it's an anagram. I'm pretty sure the first line says, 'We're coming.' And the second ... Madrigals here." Sinead translated.

_Madrigals. Dan and Amy._

"What's the rest say?"

"Um ... I think the next line says 'Give us the serum.' And the last line ... oh my God."

"Oh my God? That doesn't fit." Jonah complained.

"No, I know, it's just ... Amy and Dan weren't kidnapped. They were taken hostage. The note says, We're coming, Madrigals here, Give us the serum ... Or they die."


	4. Waking

**A/N: Okay, so I feel stupid. I can't believe it never occured to me before, but do you think Amy and Dan have Boston accents? I mean, it never said they did, but since they grew up there, does that mean we should just assume they do, or does that mean they don't? I wouldn't care either way, I love Boston accents, but I just feel so dumb for never questioning it before. What do you think? Oh, and R&R please. **

_Ooooohhhh ..._

Man, Dan's head hurt. Like the time he attempted an all-night Ninja Gaiden marathon, but multiplied by, like, a gazillion.

Oh, and he didn't get the headache from the actual marathon. Uh-uh, he hadn't been so lucky. The headache had been Amy scolding him for doing it on a school-night - _like that mattered._

Wait ...

Amy.

Not just Amy, but him, and Nellie, and Saladin, too. They had been running. They had been ... breaking free. They had been so close, too. Dan had seen the door, the early sunlight filtering through, and they were going to make it ... he was sure. They were home-free.

Then stuff happened too fast. It was like they weren't in real-time, but things were sped-up like in action movies - except this was no movie.

The masked men came all at once, a blitz of them form every possible stand-point. They were seized, and swallowed alive by the crowd.

They had been crying, screaming, and panicking trying to get away so badly. And how many times had they shrieked each other's names in desperation?

He saw the needle shoot into his sister's arm, her eyes become marbles, and before his could do the same, he managed to call out to her one last time, "_A- ... Amy... "_

Dan's eyes flung open.

_Amy. Nellie. Saladin._

He wasn't in bed back in Boston; he wasn't even close. He wouldn't slam a fist on his bleating alarm clock, and Amy wouldn't have to drag him out of bed after he went back to sleep. He wouldn't stumble into the kitchen and smell Nellie's pancakes, cooked just the way he liked it. That reality was shattered.

Where he was now only confirmed it.

He scanned his new situation, and came to this terrible realization - not slowly, but suddenly, like a thud from falling back to earth. All that stuff really _did_ happen.

This new place wasn't at all what he thought a prison cell would look like, though: the floor was carpeted, he lay almost comfortably in a king-size bed, and there were no bars.

Okay, that made no sense at all. In _all_ the prison movies, there were always bars. On the doors, the windows, practically _everywhere_. But no bars here. If he was being held captive or prisoner or whatever, shouldn't he be in some sort of cell?

His captures were doing it all wrong.

His captures ...

_Vespers_

Dan drew ina sharp breath. Vespers. The people more evil than even Isabel Kabra. _Oh, God. _He had to get out of there.

He tried sitting up, and with a disorienting wave of dizziness, he managed to get up into an upright position. He made note of the fact that there were no windows or vents, just a steel door resting open a crack.

_Open._

Struggling with the Vertigo he had developed, Dan swung his legs over the side of the bed, and had to take a break. He shut his eyes tight, and held his face in his hands to stop it from shaking. It didn't work, but when he opened his eyes and saw the door just lazily lying there limp, letting in a ray of light, he felt a surge of desperate adrenaline.

Taking short breaths through his mouth, he pushed himself up and nearly puked. Now, Dan usually loves the word puke, but right then, it was the last thing he wanted to think about.

He had to hold onto the bed as he slid his feet slowly across the carpet, so his knees wouldn't get their way and just give. He was a mere two feet away, he could almost reach out and-

The door collapsed outwards, and light charged forward at him. His eyes burnt like what he imagined it would be like if he had ever wanted to see the stove up close. His hands went to his eyes and knees gave way to the floor.

"You're not supposed to be up yet." a female voice stated, firmly and almost angrily.

Dan slowly let his hands fall as he squinted to see who was talking. He first saw the silhouette of feet and legs, and though it hurt, he forced himself to look upwards. Thin waist, stomach, with what must've been arms held straight down stiffly. _Further,_ he told himself. _Keep going._

Winching from the pain of his eyes adjusting, Dan's eyes followed the torso upwards to the neck, and finally, the head.

Dan could make out a couple features of this girl, and she made him scared and nervous, but in a weird way. It wasn't normal nervous, it felt ... weird. Really weird. Like, his stomach did this weird fluttery thing and it gave him chills, but the weirdest thing of all was he sort of ... almost ... kind of ... (did he?) like it.

Almost, sort of, really liked it, you could say.

As his eyes adjusted further, the nervous tingle in his stomach increased. It almost looked like the light wasn't coming from behind her, but resonating off her.

"Well?" she snapped. "You're not supposed to be up yet. Are you just going to sit there and gawk all day? Get up!"

Dan hastily did as he was told, indulging in this oddly enjoyable feeling as he got up, still staring.

The girl was just below eye-level with Dan, but her piercing blue eyes made up for that. She could be twenty feet tall for all Dan knew.

She scowled, "What are doing out of bed? Where exactly were you going?"

It took Dan's brain a moment to realize what she said, and when he did, he couldn't find an answer, or even talk, since his mouth felt like he was eating peanut-butter. "... Guh ... u-um ..."

The girl sighed impatiently, "_Cahills_." she shook her head slightly. "Look. You don't go out unless we tell you to go out. You don't get up unless we tell you to get up. You don't even _take a leak_ unless we say so. I don't care if you wanted _a glass of water_ or whatever, because unless we say so, you didn't. Got that?"

Dan nodded slowly, so as not set off another wave of Vertigo. "But ... c- ... can I ask questions?"

"You can, but it'd be futile; you wouldn't get any answers." she told him, looking over her shoulder, as if anticipating something.

"Where's my sister? A-and Nellie, and Saladin - he's the cat. Where are they?" he blurted.

"That's classified."

Dan licked his dry lips without moisture, "Then ... are they safe? You can tell me that, right?"

"I could, I suppose," the girl said, pausing to once again look over shoulder. She hesitated, but decided, "They're fine."

"... What's fine? I don't care about fine, I need to know are they _safe_." Dan persisted, his voice wavering quite a bit.

The girl regarded him slowly, and repeated, "They're fine."

Dan's eyes intensified. He tried his best to look intimidating, but he was pretty sure she could see straight through that. He knew he wasn't getting any better answers.

"I've already said too much, get back in the bed and _stay there this time_," she pressed, watching over her shoulder, and pushing Dan back towards the bed. After a moment of consideration, she said, "I'll be back later. Don't try anything stupid or else we'll have to knock you out again like your sister."

"What?" Dan rasped. "What'd you do to Amy? Where's Amy?"

The girl regarded Dan again with a hard look, and shut the door.

"Hey! Come back! Where's Amy? Where's Amy? Tell me! Come back, please! Te-ell me," he said, voice hitching, and pounding on the door. "Please! Come back and tell me! _Where's Amy?"_

After a few minutes, he was reduced to a blubbering mess with the whole package; red face, puffy swollen eyes, tears and gunk dripping down his chin.

He still pounded, not caring that no one could hear, not caring that his fist were bruised by this point, just caring that the girl and the rest of those awful Vespers did something to his sister.

And he couldn't do a thing. Well, not unless they said so.


	5. Desperate

**A/N: Special thanks to the nice people who reviewed or favourited or whatever. I really appreciate you taking the minute to do it! And, I'm plunging as much sincerity as I can into those words, because I really mean them. Oh, and sorry this chapter is kind of late. I finished it, but then went back and realized it sucked like crud. So, even if it sucks, it's at least better than what it was. Enjoy, dear readers ...**

_"... Amy and Dan weren't kidnapped. They were taken hostage. The note says, We're coming, Madrigals here, Give us the serum ... Or they die."_

Shock slowly came to register on everyone's faces.

Mixed along in the brew of emotion displayed so frivolously were disbelief, cold fear, and outright ire. And though this brew was disorienting and overwhelming, something had been made painfully clear.

The Vespers weren't a group of petty criminals. They weren't amateur, they weren't cheap or covetous; they were vile, callous towards the suffering, the scathing, the writhing, that they had and will continue to cause. That they were no doubt causing Amy and Dan at that very moment.

Hamilton tried making sense of all this, but this new advancement in their search didn't seem like much an advancement since everything about it just befuddled him further. Starting with how so much cruelty could be depicted in only three words, "... Wh- ... what? They can't ... I-I ... I, I mean, they can't just ... _what_?"

"It appears this is more grave than we had anticipated." Alistair murmured, looking over the anagram for any slips in Sinead's translation. "Far more."

"This ... this - is - an - outrage!" Ian seethed, face contorted in a furious grimace. "How dare they even think of thinking of threatening us? On such grounds, as well. When my _lawyers_ catch wind of this, oh-ho, it will be the one of the biggest lawsuits they've ever preformed!"

"Cool it, Kabra," Jonah instructed, grimly. "We can't sue."

"Well, why not?"

"We don't even know these punks, yo, who do ya plan on suing? It's like, for all we know, Vesper could be some sorta weird codename."

"An alias," Sinead supplied.

"Right, that," Jonah said dismissively. "Besides, what's a judge gonna make of _'give us the serum_'?"

Ian seemed to realize this, how much sense Jonah was making, and folded his arms, displeased. "Well ... what's your plan, then?"

"We research them," Sinead stated with conviction. "Find out all we can, as fast as we can. That means libraries, websites, even branch archives."

The Holt twins groaned, and Madison said, "_Research_? C'mon. You'd think a kidnapping would be more _exciting_."

Alistair looked wary of the last statement, "Sinead's correct, all precautions must be taken. We may even have to contact the other Madrigal agents. If they have really been monitoring the clue hunt as they say, they might have noted an ... _outside party_."

"How would we even go about contacting them, if we indeed wish to do so," Natalie queried, charmingly.

She seemed to be taking this better than Ian. He was sulking about and not even bothering to cloak his vexation and impatience with charm, which was really starting register to the others as being odd. What happened to that patented British charisma of his? He certainly didn't seem too concerned that he was openly acting out and carrying on like he was a displeased five year old brat - maybe an overtired one, judging by the bags under his eyes, which were now becoming a curious factor in his new behavioural pattern.

"Fiske Cahill now resides in Boston," Broderick Wizard emitted. He had been so wrapped up in his Blackberry everyone had nearly forgotten he was there. "I tried calling the Cahill's home phone, but no answer, so if he-"

Suddenly, as if on cue, Broderick's phone sang out. He looked up (for once), "Oh. He called back."

"Well? Answer it, Wizard!" Eisenhower barked.

Broderick took a fearful glance at Eisenhower's biceps and clicked on the phone, "Hello? ... Yes, I called ... Broderick Wizard ... Yes, well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your charges, Daniel and A- ... Really? How did you know? ... Makes sense. I- ... Really? ..."

"What's he saying, pops?" Jonah inquired.

Broderick held up a finger, "Say, you don't happen to know much about their captures, do you? The Vespers? ... Oh ... Oh, my ..."

"What? What's he saying?"

"... Uh huh ... Mhm ... Oh ... _Oh, really_?" Broderick breathed, an overwhelmed tone taking his voice. His face contorted disbelief and disquiet, his eyebrows bearing new heights on his forehead.

Jonah really didn't dig that look. He inquired tautly, "Dad? What's he saying?"

Broderick had to look over to his son because of his strained tone. He held up his finger again, to say 'hold on' as he listened intently to Fiske's distressed words on the other line. Broderick swallowed thickly, swallowing whatever development had just been made in the case. "... Thank you. We'll ... we'll be in touch. Good luck with your appointment. Bye."

He looked up solemnly, "Fiske and the other Madrigals know about the Vespers."

"What do they know?" Ian pressed sombrely, his chiselled features darkened by veiling shadows cast from the pillar and the setting sun.

"The Cahills and the Vespers go back a long time; to 16th century Dublin." Tensed facial expressions dropped in a knowing sort of shock, like they knew this already, but still couldn't believe it to be true. "Fiske says he can't reveal much more at this time, but he said we must realize that they are indeed a formidable threat - to the _entire _family - and we need to take this seriously."

"What else? That - that can't be all he said." Hamilton insisted in an overwhelmed, breathy voice. He was drowning his denial and disbelief. Dan and Amy _couldn't_ be in the hands of a 'formidable threat'; not some one who could do real damage. Who could ... kill. The full horror of the whole kidnapping caught up with him.

"Well," Broderick added, "he went on about how we had his full support, but he himself couldn't help."

"Wait, why not? Their _his_ kids!" Eisenhower said. He knew if anything happened to any of _his_ kids (he really hated that thought), he'd be the first to pulverize whoever was responsible.

"He has taken ill. As he puts it, the doctors say his final days are undoubtedly upon him."

"Oh, my ..." Alistair murmured, thinking of how Amy and Dan would take to hearing this.

"Yes, quite unfortunate," Natalie said. "but we can't allow sentiments to interfere with our search. I suggest we research them further tonight; it's all we really can do at this point. Tomorrow mourning we should all be rested and bearing new information."

It was an usually practical thing for Natalie to say, but everyone just figured that she only said that so she could go shopping while the others worked.

"Sounds tight," Jonah nodded, "I can get the low-down on these Vesper-punks from the other Janus'."

"Right, well, yes, it was _splendid_ chatting with you all, but I'm taking that as my que. I'm quite knackered - er, _tired_," Ian added, realizing he spoke in British slang the others wouldn't understand. "Come along, Natalie."

With that, Ian strode out of the bank. Natalie, however, hesitated before following. She watched as he walked - almost monitoring him - a look of worry taken over her slightly ashen face.

Everyone else saw this. "... What's wrong with Ian? What happened to him?" Sinead inquired softly, so as not to let Ian hear.

"I ... I don't know." Fear and despondency leaked into her voice as it lowered down to a whisper. She didn't even try to deny it, or laugh it off, or even scoff. The worry in Natalie's eyes intensified as she watched Ian actually _stumble_ on the stairs leading into the bank.

That was the last straw. Not only was he getting worse at hiding it, he had somehow managed to make _her_ worried, even to the point of admitting it _out loud_. How _dare_ he?

She would put a swift end to this nonsense. When his guard was down.

* * *

After an hour of online search, Ian and Natalie gave up. Ian, because he was absolutely exhausted, and Natalie because she had to confront Ian. It hardly mattered to either of them that they had virtually no further information on the malicious kidnappers who had taken their cousins hostage.

They then checked into the fanciest hotel in all of Zurich and as usual insisted on a penthouse suite. The difference was, this time was that Ian had insisted on _two_.

Natalie was about to protest, but stopped herself out of fear of breaking character. She had to act like she hadn't seen anything wrong in the last few weeks and that she saw nothing wrong with this, either. Though, she really knew it was because he was hiding something.

So, as to not let Ian out of her sight, Natalie had her bags sent to her suite while she herself went into Ian's suite, causally remarking how the maids had better get her room in order by the time she went in. Ian grumbled under his breath but didn't protest to her presence.

Biding her time, making like she was deeply engaged in the latest edition of People magazine, Natalie watched meticulously for the perfect opportunity. She would just _casually_ strike up conversation, then _offhandedly_ mention the frightening and erratic change in his behaviour that had her solicitous and fraught with terrible worry for weeks now. Simple.

"Say, Ian?" she said. "Have you noticed how poorly the other teams have faired over the past few months?"

"They always look that bad." Ian muttered morosely, obviously wanting her out of his hair.

Natalie simply shrugged elegantly, "I suppose you're right. They've always been quite pitiful."

Ian let out a sharp, impatient breath, "Yes, well, I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"I was just making conversation."

"Well, there's no need for it." he snapped. "_Get out of my room_."

Natalie looked up, "Well. _Someone's_ irritable."

Ian narrowed his eyes, "Get. Out."

"Why?" she inquired. "What's so important that-"

"Just go!"

Natalie complied without hesitation, but somehow she made both her expression and even _stride_ sarcastic. Just as she reached the door frame, she stopped. She turned to see Ian scowling.

They both stood there in that moment, studying one and other like adversaries, before Natalie decided, "I know."

"Know what?" Ian said, his tone hard and trying yet failing to sound disinterested.

"That you're hiding something."

"So?"

"You're hiding it terribly." She thought, then offhandedly added, "I've been tailing you, you know."

Ian's eyes widened, but the look of surprise was soon replaced with anger. "How dare you even _think_-"

"You've let yourself go so terribly, Ian."

"Oh?" his tone deep, angry, and almost somehow accusing.

"Yes, quite so, in fact, that it's become something of an issue." she resisted the urge to say _nuisance_.

Ian's impatience evaporated so suddenly, Natalie knew it was in mock. His grin was accompanied by an understanding chortle, and in an overly spurious and jovial tone, Ian chuckled, "Oh. _Oh_, it is, is it? Well, we just can't have that, now can we, Natalie, dear? Not for you, of course, not under your supervision. Must be ship-shape for you, dear sister, _of course_ it must, because every little detail must be just _perfect_ for you, now, mustn't it?"

Natalie found herself unable to reply.

"Of course, it wouldn't matter if anything was wrong with _me_. _Oh no!_ Even if there was, well, that'd just be trivial, because of course, in your shimmering little _delusions_, it simply doesn't matter if anything's wrong with _me_. No, no, you mustn't bother yourself such low-brow inconveniences as even considering _other _people have feelings. _God, forbid!_"

"I'm trying to _help_ you, you bloody jerk!"

Even Natalie was surprised by her words.

Ian tried to look as overly shocked as he could. He gasped, "_No_. The great and ever desirable _Natalie Kabra_ stooping so low as to actually consider-"

"Ian, shut up," she snapped, with a deadly edge in her voice. "Don't mind my motives."

"Well," his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Aren't we just the touchy lot."

"I said shut up!"

Ian rolled his eyes and scowled, "Just go away already! I'm tired, and the incessant squeak in voice is giving my _such_ the headache."

Ian was hastily ushering Natalie out as she interjected, "No! I demand you tell me what's wrong!"

Ian still continued shoving her out into the hall. He stopped when she had completely left the proximity of the doorframe, but clutched the door handle protectively, like it would slip through his fingers, he wouldn't be able to shut the door, and he'd _never_ be left alone. "Nothing. There, I've told you what's wrong; absolutely positively nothing, nothing of the sort - of any sort, really, so you can leave me _alone_."

"But - but you said if there was something wrong with you, like there actually was-"

Ian let out an impatient scoff, "I was being _theatrical_, just trying to get my point across! You are so dense sometimes, Natalie, honestly."

Natalie's eyes narrowed considerably, "Ian, admit it."

_"There's nothing to admit!"_

"Oh, alright, I've had quite enough." Natalie snapped, her tone so razor sharp Ian could almost swear - for one terrible moment - that someone else was speaking. Isabel. "Now, if you choose to put on this horribly masqueraded hoax for the rest of the world, that's all well and good, but Ian, _God help me_, if you parade around here - in the privacy of your own _room_ - like everything's just fine and dandy, _I swear_, I will slit your throat with your own blade. There's certainly an abundance of concealed ones around here, it would be quite simple indeed."

Ian's scowl receded into a stern, almost impressed look. He didn't say a word, curious as to what she'd say before he slammed the door in her face.

"Now, for one silent moment, _get over yourself_, forget what my motives are, and just _listen_ for once."

Ian's frown deepened, "What is 'for once' supposed to mean?"

Natalie shot a irritated glare at him, "It means, I suppose you do have a point, because I generally don't care, but, even if I did, you'd never tell me a bloody thing or even listen. And you're never even _there_. You're the most self-centered imbecile I've ever had the displeasure of having to tolerate ... but ..." Natalie softened ever so slightly.

Ian raised a brow, "There's a but?"

Natalie nodded, "But ... unfortunately I'm forced to. Just as we're forced to help Daniel and Amy."

"... And why's that?" Ian asked quietly. He still craved solitude, but she had momentarily caught his attention.

"Well ... you know ..." she said evasively.

Ian folded his arms neatly, and almost monotonously stated, "I'm not sure I recall. I might just need some reminding, I can be atrociously forgetful at times, and it seems _your_ reasoning for helping them, and evidently _me_, has slipped my memory."

Natalie glared daggers at him, "... I told you, disregard my motives, and just listen."

Ian stepped forward so he was standing over her, "Alright, I'll listen, but only for _one_ minute. After that you will _leave_, and let me be in peace."

"Fair enough," Natalie recomposed herself and stood resolute, as if to look more intimidating. "First of all your appearance is startlingly horrid, your demeanour has become detestable and frankly _repulsive_, the repugnant odour curling out of your mouth suggests you have made the disgusting choice to let your hygiene slip, those bags under your eyes make you look like an impecunious urchin, your-"

"Shut up," he snarled, his patience out the window as his temper flared. He knew Natalie could've gone on all day, which only angered him further.

"My point is that you've let yourself grow into this ... this unsightly - even sickening state, and I want to know why."

"I don't see why it would be any of your business; even if I _was_ struggling," he said raising his voice in irritation. "Natalie, you don't understand what I do everyday to keep you in Channel and Gucci! For the past few months you've been in leisure, but _I_ have to work for a living, and if you're so ungrateful as to not realize this, yes, I suppose it would take on the impression that I'm not there, but-"

"Wait, wait, what does all that have to with why you're so decrepit?" Natalie asked, honestly confused.

"It doesn't; you wanted to know what the problem is, and the only problem here is that you're blinded by your selfish desires and you don't appreciate what you have and what _I_ want. I gave you what you have, so you should give me what I want, TO BE LEFT ALONE!"

"UGH! You're so ... _UGH_!" Natalie couldn't even put into words how frustrated she was. "Ian, just face it already! You're a pathetic wreck!"

"Pardon me," he said, laughing sadistically. "but you've mistaken me for someone who GIVES A DAMN!"

Natalie flinched. Ian _never_ swore, in fact, he made it his _business_ to talk and act like a gentlemen. Then again, he hadn't been acting so gentlemen-like, lately.

"Now you get out THIS INSTANT!"

"What happened to you?" she whispered, but in a despising tone.

Ian only deepened his scowl.

"I saw you taking something on the plane. Tell me what it was or - or I'll shoot!" she took out her dart gun and aimed at Ian's chest.

Ian knew he couldn't slam the door fast enough; Natalie had quite the fast trigger finger and he would be on the ground before it even shut. They were at an impasse, and they both knew it.

"This is none of your business, Natalie." Ian warned, his scowl not even wavering. "Put. The dart gun. Away."

"Tell me what you're hiding! Are you taking drugs? Is that it? Or - or alcohol?" she catechized, her voice convulsing severely at this point. "Are you that _stupid_ and _senseless_ that would even consider-"

"No! I would never even stoop so low as even to touch such filth!"

"Then tell me!" she implored, screaming

Ian growled, then screamed, "_GET OFF MY BACK!_" then before he knew it, he was slipping into unconsciousness for being a bad little boy and trying to shut the door.

* * *

When he awoke, Ian was aware of his heart pounding in his ears and he intense headache pulsating ferociously at his temples.

Natural sunlight scorched his eyes as it unwelcomingly intruded his suite via open window. He got to his feet with the intent of closing it, but came to a halt when he felt the brisk early mourning breeze prickling his senses.

He held his forehead as a stab of pain intersected his peaceful thought.

Pain.

The dart. Natalie.

... _Oh, Lord ... _It came rushing back, and as he observed his own behaviour by replaying the events of the previous night in his mind, horror finally caught up with him.

What was he becoming?


End file.
